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Modern Japanese Print - Michener. James Michener
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isbn 9781462904051
Автор произведения James Michener
Издательство Ingram
ONO TADASHIGE (b. 1909). His finished work looks like a Norwegian or a post-impressionist German oil painting. Trained critics hold that his work is among the most impressive that Japan has to offer. Certainly it has more raw force than that of his colleagues, and anyone seeking diversity in his collection of Japanese prints should certainly consider Ono's work.
SAITO KIYOSHI (b. 1907) is one of those fortunate artists who have enjoyed both critical acclaim (many international awards) and also great popularity with the public (more prints sold overseas than any other modern). His powerful design, fine coloring, and interesting content covering widely scattered fields have combined to make him one of the finest working artists. Never static, he has progressed through many styles, always with distinction.
SASAJIMA KIHEI (b. 1906) has adapted the Munakata technique to the depiction of landscape, which he represents in brilliantly carved, complex, black-and-white designs. Patrons not informed in the arts usually pass Sasajima's uncompromising prints by; foreign museum directors visiting Japan for the first time almost always lug home a sheaf, for his artistic content is high.
SEKINO JUN'ICHIRO (b. 1914). One of the most successful of contemporary print artists, Sekino has issued a long series of portraits, architectural views, and theatrical scenes. One or two of the latter, in bold, twisting design, are among the best prints made in this period, his depictions of incidents in the puppet theater being the best.
SHINAGAWA TAKUMI (b. 1907). I am particularly fond of the work of this gifted abstractionist. He produces large, bright prints of great decorative value, stunning compositions with clashing colors and enormous vitality. I rarely see a Shinagawa that I do not like, and the more I keep them on my walls at home, the more rewarding I find them.
UCHIMA ANSEI (b. 1921). A native Californian but caught in Japan at the beginning of World War II, Uchima has developed into one of the subtler of the print artists. Working in an advanced nonobjective style, he creates tenuous poems in form and color which have been highly praised both in Japan and abroad.
YAMAGUCHI GEN (b. 1903) is perhaps the most international of the artists working today. His prints are of a high quality, few in number, poetic and mysterious in content. He is one of my favorites, a judgment that was confirmed when he won first prize in a world competition held in Europe. His subject matter is fantasy; his artistic mastery is superb.
YOSHIDA CHIZUKO (b. 1924). Wife of the artist who follows, this young woman has recently burst onto the print scene with an explosive series of ultra-modern compositions centering on the jazz world and its reflection in abstract art. Her prints are daringly designed and brilliantly colored. They form a distinguished if surprising addition to the Yoshida canon.
YOSHIDA HODAKA (b. 1926). Son of Hiroshi, brother of Toshi, and husband of Chizuko, this young man has a good chance of developing into the best artist of the family. He has a keen sense of design and is a fine colorist. He has vacillated between objective and nonobjective art but seems to be more at home in the latter style, in which he is continuing to produce prints of great distinction.
YOSHIDA TOSHI (b. 1911). Following in the footsteps of his distinguished father, Yoshida Hiroshi (1876-1950), who was the best-known of the traditional woodblock artists of his period and who traveled widely in the United States, Toshi has visited many parts of the world and has produced from his travels a series of handsome, interesting prints, those relating to the southwest United States being among his most effective.
It is not generally understood that often a worker in one field of the arts is indebted to men who have worked in wholly unrelated fields. Yet this is apt to be the case. To cite one obvious example, Romain Rolland could not have written Jean Christophe without the artistic instruction he had received from the world of music. In the field of Japanese prints Onchi Koshiro has told us of his indebtedness to European artists like Edvard Munch and Wassily Kandinsky, but he acknowledged an even greater debt to Johannes Brahms, with whom he felt a deep kinship.
My spiritual debt to the print artists of Japan is both deep and inexplicable. I was just beginning a writing career when I first met Onchi Koshiro, Hiratsuka Un'ichi, and their colleagues; so there was a freshness of morning in our association. The Japanese were older than I, more informed in the ways of art, and much more profoundly dedicated to a life of extreme hardship; but I was at a period of my development when it was of crucial importance that I encounter someone with a total commitment to the world of art, and in these Japanese artists I met such men.
I can recall my initial meetings with each of these gifted, almost childlike men. I can remember the powerful impact their work had on me, and how I derived a personal pleasure from their growth as I watched it unfold year by year, always with fresh impetus and newly invented delights. I remember with special acuity the wintry afternoon on which I first met Azechi Umetaro. The stocky little mountaineer, looking twenty years younger than his age, had just had a front tooth knocked out—how I speculated about that—and was only then beginning his adventures into the field of abstract art, which he explained to us with the fresh and winning lisp of a child. He unrolled sheaf after sheaf of new prints, and they were striking in their force and color. I startled Azechi by wanting to buy four copies of each of his latest works, because I wanted to have at hand examples of the manner in which a creative man varied his work from one printing to the next.
Later I came to know most of the artists of the school, and I acquired hundreds of their prints. There was a constant joy in returning to Japan and checking up on their accomplishment during my absence; and they, for their part, were pleased to discover what I had been doing while they were making prints. Often we dined together and I can recall one fine dinner at which some twenty of the artists convened at one of the old restaurants in the brothel section of Asakusa, where artists and intellectuals had been meeting for two hundred years, and in the flush of the night some rather expansive speeches were made. When it came my turn I said: "I won't see you for some years, but in that time you will all make a few more prints that will carry you a little closer to your goal, and I shall write a book or two which I hope will be good. We shall be a world apart, but we shall be working side by side, each helping the other."
Half of my mature intellectual life has been built around this group of men. I have written books which have helped carry their fame to the world; but I have received so much more from them than I have been able to give that at the present casting up of accounts I must owe them at least half of whatever I have been able to accomplish. Wherever I go, I keep their prints upon my wall so that I shall be constantly reminded of this debt.
It is important to record that my affection for this school of artists is neither capricious nor accidental. I did not stumble upon their prints with an untutored eye, to be bedazzled by the first bright art I saw. I served a long apprenticeship in European art and, had I had the funds when I lived so intimately amongst it, I would have collected Renoirs and Vlamincks and Chagalls and Chiricos, for my taste has always inclined that way. Also, before I saw my first contemporary Japanese print I had acquired a substantial collection of the old masterpieces done by classical artists like Utamaro, Sharaku, Hokusai, and Hiroshige. I was therefore schooled in both the best of European oil painting and the best of Japanese woodblock design.
But it was the impact of this bold new world of Japanese prints done in the full European tradition, yet combining many of the Oriental values of the past, that quite stunned me. I was at an age of my own development when I hungrily required such an experience, and it was fortunate for me that I came upon Onchi and Hiratsuka and Azechi—to name only three—when I did. I cannot specify exactly what they meant to me, what significance they held and still hold, but I suppose their impact derived from three factors. First, they refreshed my education in design, and anyone who wants to work in any of the arts had better know all about that fundamental component that he can master, for the design of a good print poses exactly the same problem as the design of a good string quartet or a decent novel. Second, these artists taught me how exciting it is to experiment in new fields and to exercise the mind to its fullest. Third, they showed me better than I had seen before or have seen since what dedication to art means.
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